


Four Times Alex and Miles Almost Had Sex, and the First Time They Did - a narrative tale in five parts

by Rhanon_Brodie



Category: Arctic Monkeys, British Singers RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cocaine, Drug Use, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Sheffield slang, Tags Subject to Change, Tumblr Prompt, brief mention of past relationships, first person POV, first time fic, liverpool slang, sheffield dialect, slight reference to cookane, slight references to jamex, this will probably get dirtier as I go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhanon_Brodie/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners.  The remaining content is mine.</p><p>So here's a First Time fic as requested by brbie / mybrbie over on Tumblr!  I couldn't decided how I wanted this to go - sweet? Funny? Intense? Drunk? So here's my response! Enjoy!  Also, I'm trying something a little different here: we're talking First person POV.  This chapter is told in Alex's voice (which is incredibly hard to duplicate, given his proclivity for being wordy, and taking forever to respond to something), and I'm not sure if I'll switch between him and Miles?  Anyway, thank you iambrianstorms for inspiring me to go this route!  I've never done this with RPF before, so I'm hoping it turns out well :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> So here's a First Time fic as requested by brbie / mybrbie over on Tumblr! I couldn't decided how I wanted this to go - sweet? Funny? Intense? Drunk? So here's my response! Enjoy! Also, I'm trying something a little different here: we're talking First person POV. This chapter is told in Alex's voice (which is incredibly hard to duplicate, given his proclivity for being wordy, and taking forever to respond to something), and I'm not sure if I'll switch between him and Miles? Anyway, thank you iambrianstorms for inspiring me to go this route! I've never done this with RPF before, so I'm hoping it turns out well :)

The first time we try to make it the first time, it ends in blood shed and vomit. Not a very pleasant visual, that, but allow me to explain. 

We’ve always had something, Miles an’ I, right from the very beginning, from the moment he tossed me a Little Flames t shirt that smelled like him, and told me to give it a try. That were ten years ago, an’ we were a coupla horny, gangly teenagers with spots an’ ‘orrible taste in fashion. The spots are gone now, an’ maybe we’ve filled out, but Mi still has a rather...questionable taste when it comes to his fashion choices.

Give it a try. He couldn’t have known how impactful those words were. Give it a try. Try me on. See if it suits you. I’d kissed maybe a handful of blokes before that night, given a handy or three, been blown by a boy a half-dozen times...but when Miles elbowed his way into my life, everything I thought I knew turned to hazy memory. I weren’t ever that confident, but I had a facade, you know? Something to hide under, a cockyness that made me mum frown from time to time, but that guys liked well enough. Miles could see right through it the moment he landed eyes on me, an’ he didn’t even call me out on it - over time, it sort of faded away, like the others that had come before him.

He had a wonderful enthusiasm about him - he still does - an’ at the time, he were a breath of fresh air among the facelessness an’ the fakery. Everyone was always clamberin’ to get a piece o’ the new kids, to dig in, see what made us tick, see if we could be bought, or coddled, an’ he seemed to know right away that wasn’t what we were about. I respected that. Respected him, an’ his own feelings towards money an’ fame. Miles would become a superstar in his own right, I could see that right away, an’ every chance I got, I’d be standin’ in the crowd watching them before the crowd was watching us. The way he’d handle that Gibson...well, it made me blush more than a few times, made me swing me gaze to Eva an’ put stock in her: you don’t want to be outed when you’re this close to fame. At least, that was my thought at the time. It’s stupid, I know, an’ I never were really good at hidin’ it, especially when it comes to Miles.

Miles an’ I had been snogging every chance we got, since we first kissed in Liverpool, rain an’ walls comin’ down around us, an that led to gropin’ when we were given a moment of reprieve. It were usually in the dressing room, or tucked in a shadow off stage - hands, mouths, hissing words of pleasure, teasing each other until our hair was mussed an’ we were flushed and breathin’ heavily. The concern about his asthma came from his bandmates - don’t want our guitar man overdoing it before a show, are you sure you’re alright, Miles? All my pink cheeks got me was another lager an’ a quick pep talk about nerves from Matthew. It more or less went in one ear an’ out the other, focused as I was on Miles staging the crowd, having a ball an’ swingin’ ‘bout the room.

So we ended up in Nottingham. Home of the Sheriff of, rival of Robin Hood an’ all that. Maid Marian, Richard the Lion Heart. The stuff daydreams are made of, stuff a guy like me can get caught up in. I’m terribly romantic, you realize, an’ when we hit that hovel an’ checked into our rooms, somethin’ just seemed right. Seemed like it were time, or summat. Like there were a list to check things off of: snogging? Yes. Heavy pettin’? Yes. Swallowin’ his cock? Yes, yes, an’ yes. But there were things beyond that, we both knew it, an it just seemed like a natural progression. I remember quite clearly being camped together in the back of a van trundling down the road, Miles curled against me as he flipped through a magazine. We’d stopped at the halfway point between Liverpool an’ Nottingham, Ashburne I think it were, an’ gassed up, played musical seats, an’ after stealing kisses round the back of the petrol station, Miles had asked me to sit with him. I’d never refuse him anything.

So, there we were, stuffed into the furthest seat from the front, humidity clinging to windows and making me hair stick out oddly. Miles didn’t mind the damp air, said it were easier on his lungs. Said this, of course, an’ then cracked a window an’ lit a Chesterfield, and the smoke rings hung on the haze. I poked me pointer finger through em’, mutterin’ summat about them not wanting to die virgins, an’ just as I said it, I glanced at Miles, who was grinning crookedly, those dimples firm in the flesh of youthful faces, an’ he winked.

“Sounds like a good plan. An’ what a way to be deflower’d, eh? Alex fuckin’ Turner, the next big thing, poppin’ cherries like there’s no t’morrah.”

“Fuck off,” I’d chuckled fondly, sliding me gaze back to him. “You know I’m not about tha’.”

“Not yet,” Miles pointed out. “But think about it, yeah? In five years time, I bet there’ll be swarms of girls an’ guys just savin’ themselves, hopin’ you’ll be the one.”

“You can sack it right now,” I scoffed, borrowing his slang and elbowing him playfully. “Don’t mean owt, that sort of thing. Besides,” I shrugged. “It’s an awful lot of pressure, don’t you think?”

“Not if you know what you’re doin’.”

I narrowed my gaze at Miles for a moment. “What are you gettin’ at, Mi?”

“Hmm, love it when you call me Mi, ‘ave I ever told you that?”

“Stop stallin’, then, _Mi_ , an’ answer the question: what are you talkin’ about?”

He lifted a narrow shoulder from where it was planted against me, and effected a nonchalant shrug, before slowing turning the page in his magazine. “Just that...like...I dunno, like...maybe I just...want to be first in line?” He seemed awfully fascinated with the article on Jack White, even though his voice wavered with his confession.

“Come again?”

“Several times, I hope.” Still looking at his magazine, the corner of his mouth ticked up again. Finally, he closed his magazine, and smoothed his hand over the cover before he looked up at me. His bottom lip was tucked up between his teeth. “I want you,” he murmured when he released his lip. His eyes drifted to my mouth momentarily, and then swept up to my gaze as he continued, “I wanna have sex with you. In all manner of ways.”

“Oh,” I said, blinking, and suddenly looking to the window. “ _Oh_.” In the moment, I didn’t know what else to say.

My silence seemed to agitate Miles and he shifted away and tucked his magazine back into his bag. “Forget I said it, laa,” he murmured tightly. The pink in his cheeks belied his casual dismissal.

“I want that, too,” I blurted out.

Miles did a double take, and then gave me a rather sad smile. “Don’t just say it because you think I want to hear it.”

“I’m sayin’ it because I want to.” I looked at him pointedly. Miles knew better than anyone that I didn’t just say things for the sake of saying them. “I…” My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I been finkin’ on it. Yeah? About us. An’ I’ve been wonderin’ why we haven’t…” I made an offering gesture with my hands. “You know.”

“Yeah?” Miles’ tone was timid, something I never thought I’d hear from him. 

I glanced down to where his hands were resting on his thighs, fingers curling into denim, and I watched as my hand slid over, pinky finger sliding against his. “Well,” I shrugged, “yeah. I mean...yeah.” My hand ventured a bit further, fingers curling around his lean upper thigh.

“You’re not...I mean...’ave you ever _been_ with a guy? Like that, I mean.”

“Nah,” I laughed softly. I dared a glance in his direction. “You?”

“Never could find the right guy. Or the right time.”

That’s really it, though, innit? Timing. It all comes down to timing. We didn’t say anything beyond that, but we _knew_ , well enough. That tight ball of anticipation started building right there in the van, and our hands eagerly demonstrated what we hoped our bodies would be doing later: touching. We skimmed thighs, and knees, and skittered over bulging flies, grazing our arousal, pleasuring our intent. In the seats in front of us, Miles’ bandmates snored, and so we were able to put our mouths to use, and the windows grew blessedly fogged.

Up until that point I’d never wanted a bloke the way I wanted Miles, and it seemed like it was too good to be true. But then there we were in Nottingham, checking into rooms, and to my dismay, I was paired with Cookie. Miles, however, had managed a single, and he’d given me a secret smile over his shoulder as he collected his key and repeated the room number to the girl behind the desk, as if he hadn’t quite heard her the first time.

“Three-sixteen.”

“Eh,” I’d said when we’d made our way down the hall to the elevators. “Five-oh-five,” I’d announced, holding up my key.

Don’t go gettin’ yourself in a twist, it’s a matter of coincidence. _I’m going back to five-oh-five_ is a lot catchier than _I’m going back to three-sixteen_ , tha knows? 

So, we did the show thing, the beers thing, an’ then headed over to Boar’s Head for a proper piss-up that left all of us an’ then some feeling like we were invincible. In a way, we were, at least in our own minds. I drank a lot of ale. There was tequila, too, an really, when I drink, I drink unitl I’m done, until it’s all done, an I have to stumble back blindly, often belligerently, sometimes hysterically. But that night, I had only one thing on me mind: Miles. Having sex with Miles.

If there is one thing I learned from this experience is that sex is like New Year's Eve: don’t fookin’ plan on it, don’t make any assumptions that it’s going to be this incredible time, because more often than not, it’s a fookin’ failure.

It doesn’t always start that way, it starts with best laid plans and smooth intent, and perhaps too much liquor. We were havin’ a reyt good time of it, an’ the booze just made it easier to pass off the overtly casual touches, the looks that went on perhaps a little too long, and the fact that were perhaps too bold, pushing my lips to Miles’ without second thought. The guys knew well enough that I’d go either way, boy or girl, an’ it didn’t bother them, and like I’d said before, I wasn’t doing anythin’ to hide the way I felt about Miles, but even I knew I’d gone too far when Nick sidled up and elbowed me, glancing between me and Miles and muttered that maybe we should go back to five-oh-five.

I’d sputtered, because Christ, I was sharing wiv Jamie, an’ I didn’t know how Jamie felt about that, but then Nick seemed to remember this an’ looked to Miles. “What about you, yeah? Where you sleepin?”

Miles giggled, leaning his head on my shoulder. “Three-sixteen.”

“Go to, then. You’re practically shaggin’ here. Don’t want to give everyone a fright, pale arses an’ all.”

“It’s not pale,” Miles insisted, standing up and sweeping his hands down his frame in emphasis. “I’ve been working on me tan, Nicholas. It goes all the way down.” Miles blinked bleary, hazel eyes at Mal and then grinned, and picked up my half glass of ale.

“Bet that’s not the only thing that does,” Mal muttered, raising his eyebrows at me.

“Fook right off,” I barked, tugging my beer from Miles, despite his protest. “You’ve ‘ad enough,” I reminded him, swilling the rest into my mouth.

“Says _you_ ,” Miles pouted, waving at the bartender and ordering gin.

“He’s cut off,” I laughed, slinging an arm around Miles’ shoulder, Nick forgotten. “C’mon, ya fookin’ Scouser,” I teased, pulling him back against me. “Take me back to your room,” I continued, dropping my voice to a whisper against his ear.

Miles coughed, and glanced down at me, and then smiled broadly. “Absolutely, mate,” he nodded. “But, I’m not a Scouser, yeah?” He pouted. “M’a Wooly. Or Woolyback.”

I shook my head. “Nah, I like Scouser,” I insisted, tugging him away from the bar.

“You’re askin’ for it, Al,” Miles playfully scolded, waving his finger under my nose.

“Hopin’ I won’t have to beg,” I replied.

“I think I like what the booze does to you, you know,” Miles slightly slurred as we wandered outside and waved down a taxi. “Loosens you up. Makes you seem more…” He trailed off, sparkling eyes turning pensive for a moment.

“More affable?”

“You’re always quite affable, Alex. No. You’re more...human.” He twined his fingers with mine as a taxi flashed its lights and skidded to the curb.

“I’m wot?” I laughed, contemplating the way his fingers wrapped around mine, and how the dampness clung to the skin of my neck and face after the heat of the bar.

Miles merely shook his head, and tilted his head down to glide his lips over mine. “Perfect, laa,” he whispered, pulling back with a wink. “Now get in. I’m takin’ you back to mine.”

Taxi rides have a way of making things seem very vivid, and all at once like a scene from a movie. Nottingham, doused in rain, went by in streaking lights that flashed through the windows, and cast shadows on the pair of us in the back. We held hands rather tightly. This was it. Over and over, the thought consumed me: this was it. This was going to change things. The thought of change, of course, got me heart poundin’ madly, and maybe Miles sensed it. I like to think he did. He leaned in and kissed me, an’ my whirling concern flickered out like a candle.

Three-sixteen was dark, save for the stark light of the foyer that Miles managed to flip on as we stumbled into the room. We were a great mess of limbs and mouths, Bombay and Boddington’s, and I remember sharing leering gazes with him as we worked our shoes off, falling against walls and each other with rounds of slurred giggles and snickers. I kept hushing him, kept telling him to keep it down, to which he laughed - and when Miles laughs you can’t keep from joining in. He laughed into our kiss, against my neck, my collarbones, and managed to pry me from the wall to send me spinning towards the bed.

He caught up with me well enough, his hand cupping my elbow and bringing me around. I’d spun, but he were the dizzy one, and he stumbled a bit on the carpet and caught the front of my shirt, tugging at the fabric as he gazed down at me with drunken bliss. “This needs to come off.”

I nodded quickly, liking where his intentions lay, and kissed him again, sloppy, and carefree, and reached for his shirt at the same time. The more we tugged, the more we kissed, and hands scraped over skin and muscle, and when my shirt didn’t come up right away, he abandoned it for a better prize, tucking his fingers into my jeans and rubbing the tender skin at my hipbones. I felt weightless in the moment; or perhaps I was incredibly heavy, the sudden rush of blood and heat making my limbs feel like they were never mine to begin with. It all happened so quickly, without finesse, without warning.

Miles got another handful of my shirt, just as I began working his up his torso. In the melee of limbs that followed, my head swam, and then there was a sharp _crack_! followed by white flashes of light, and a swift flood of pain exploding in my skull. I cursed and hissed, head caught in my shirt, hands still tugging Miles, even as he giggled, and cooed, mumbled his apologies.

“Jesus, Mi, you’ve got bony elbows,” I muttered, wrestling my shirt over my head. I touched my nose, and my fingers came away wet, and sticky. “Fuck me, m’bleedin’.” I looked down, and watched my blood spatter against my chest, small drops at first, and then felt the numbness in my front teeth, the tingle behind eyes, and the warm drip-drip-drip as blood began flowing freely from both of my nostrils.

“Oh Christ,” Miles murmured, staggering slightly.

Cupping my nose I looked up at him. He seemed rather green in the gills. “All right?” I asked cautiously, suddenly more concerned for Miles than the battered state of my face.

“No - don’t - oh, _Christ_ ,” Miles groaned once more, spinning on his feet and staggering to the bathroom.

“Mi?” I scurried after him.

“No - just - I’m not great with-” and here he paused, and folded at the knees, crashing down to hug the toilet bowl. He threw the lid back, curled an arm around the porcelain and then proceeded to heave every last ounce of his stomach contents. Over and over he retched, his lithe frame jacking tightly, and sagging, only to jack again, and strain, the back of his neck the only thing I could see, and turning purple with the heaving spasms of his guts.

“Blood,” he croaked, the toilet making him echo.

“Wot?” I moved closer, head throbbing, mumbling from behind my hand.

“Not good with-” he paused, retching again, “ _blood_.” He moaned and spat, and then pulled his head from the toilet, resting it on his arm. His eyes drifted shut as he broke out in a sweat and panted softly. “Jesus Christ.”

I shuffled to the bathroom mirror and inspected my appearance. Blood welled between my cupped fingers, and made a stark crimson beard on my chin. It had spilled and spiderwebbed on my chest, some of it falling as far as the waistband of my jeans, and I gingerly took my hand away, wincing as more and more red was revealed to me. Blood didn’t bother me, I’d had my share of cuts and scrapes in my youth. Daydreamers are always running into things, too preoccupied with their own thoughts to pay attention. But this was something new. I’d never seen so much of my own blood at the same time, and in my inebriated state, I was strangely fascinated. My tongue swiped my upper lip, tasting copper. A second later I cranked the water of the sink on, and set about cleaning myself up even as my nose continued to drip.

“How can you be so squeamish around blood?” I wondered out loud, not sure if Miles was even awake at that point.

Another small cough and heave left little doubt he was still very much clinging to wakefulness. “I dunno,” he sighed weakly.

“But your mum’s a butcher,” I pointed out, raising my head from the sink and cocking my jaw, turning my head this way and that, taking better stock of my features.

“S’not the same,” Miles sputtered. He gagged again. “Tell me when you’re cleaned up.”

“Fuck, that hurts,” I uttered in reply, washing more blood away.

“Eva probably has tampons.”

“Huh?” I whirled to stare down at Miles, who squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Blood tinged water dripped from my face and spattered the tile beneath my feet.

“Tampons,” Miles muttered. “For your nose.”

“You’re fookin’ daft, m’not shoving fookin’ tampons up me nose,” I gritted out. I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers and gave it a shift to the left, and then to the right. When nothing crunched or cracked, I sighed with relief that I hadn’t broken it.

“It’ll help,” Miles prodded, shuffling around on the tile.

“No,” I shook my head, immediately regretting the motion. I steadied myself with a hand gripping the sink, and then focused on Miles’ state. “You okay?”

“Nothing a coupla liters of water and some paracetamol won’t cure.” A second later, a roll of toilet tissue sailed through the air and I caught it, fumbling. “At least use this. Don’t want blood on the sheets.”

“Right,” I nodded, already tearing a length off and wadding it into a shape suitable for my nostril. I stuffed it in, wincing at the sting, and then repeated the process, sighing at the finished product. “Lookin’ fookin’ sexy right here, Mi.” I turned and grinned at him.

He chuckled, and frowned as his stomach tightened. “I think I’ll sleep here tonight.”

“Don’t be daft,” I said, already reaching for him, my head pounding as I leaned down to grab him under the armpits. I pulled, and grimaced. For a lean lad, he certainly felt like a bag of cement. “I’ll take care o’ya.”

“Thanks, Al,” he murmured, allowing me to help him out of the bathroom. I grabbed the ice bucket from the mini bar as we passed it, and then gently prodded him towards the bed.

“You’re quite welcome,” I replied, helping him ease onto the mattress and curl onto his side. Shaky fingers reached for the ice bucket, and I left him for a moment to fetch a glass of water.

“Sozz,” he called out before I could disappear into the bathroom.

“Eh?”

“M’sorreh,” he tried again. “About this,” he elaborated with a sweeping gesture indicating himself, his state of disarray, and the bed.

“Oh.” I frowned. Did he think I were disappointed? I checked my feelings. “I’m not.”

“You didn’t want to…?” He cracked a wary eye open.

“Oh, yeah, of course, Mi,” I rushed to clarify. “I wanted to. I _still_ want to. But maybe this is the universe’s way of telling us to wait?” I flashed a goofy smile, the one he loved, the one he still loves, and says he keeps in his pocket for those rainy days.

Miles chuckled. “So philosophical when you’re in your drink,” he said around a yawn. “Stay the night?”

“You think I can explain this to Cookie?” I asked wryly, waving in the general direction of my face. I all honesty, I most certainly could have without giving too much away, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to wake up with Miles, no matter the circumstances that found us sharing a bed.

Closing his eye, he sighed dreamily, and nestled into the pillow. I left to fetch him some water.

He was passed out when I returned. My guess was that he’d drank more than me that night; not that it mattered - he’d dispelled it rather quickly only ten minutes prior. So, with Miles softly snoring, I clambered up onto the other side of the bed and stretched out, propping pillows behind me back. The mirror on the opposite wall presented a rather hilarious, and sad reflection: Miles clinging to an ice bucket, his hair sticking out in some places, and otherwise plastered to his face, skin pale, and jaw slack with defeat, all traces of that aroused, amused lad seemingly heaved into the toilet with the liquor.

And me? Fook, I were a fookin’ sight, toilet tissue stuffed up me nose, blood tinged and ragged, hair a wild ball of fluff, and pouting at my misfortune as I wrapped my arms around my body. I sighed. Tomorrow we’d head back to Sheffield, while Miles and his crew returned to Liverpool. Such was life. You can’t plan the important stuff. It just sort of happens, I suppose.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

It’s not very often you get a second chance at these sort of things, especially after so long. Alex and I, however, seemed to be both blessed an’ cursed with the opportunity to be together, but never at the right time. We didn’t plan for Paris beyond what we’d hoped to accomplish: recording an album. Sure, there was anticipation, and trepidation, at the thought of seeing him after so long, of spending so much time together, alone, an’ maybe I entertained the occasional thought of late nights in the studio, nothing but time and us, him pouring his endless, enormous thoughts on the page, and me trying desperately to keep up on the guitar. I thought about long walks along the Seine, about visits to art galleries, about the Eiffel Tower, and _boulangeries_ , wine, cheese, Provence, all of it. But I didn’t dare to hope that we’d use this time for us, too, that’d we’d have the chance, despite matching hotel rooms, and the notion that we’d spend almost every moment we had together, working or otherwise. I’d assumed Alex felt the same way, which was why it was quite a surprise to suddenly taste his lips, and feel myself being gently pushed back into the couch where we were seated in the studio.

My eyes immediately went to the booth - even when we were alone in here, there was always someone out there watching our every move, listening to every note we played, or word we sang. Of course, it was empty; the studio was still this late at night, as Ford had left us to our own devices, telling us not to work too hard.

Alex’s hand slid over my jeans, between my thighs, just as the memory of Ford’s words echoed in my brain. I laughed into Alex’s mouth, and he pulled away with a pout, those wide, dark eyes staring solemnly at me.

“I weren’t laughing at you, laa,” I clarified reaching for him, sliding my fingers into the thick waves of hair he’d been growing out since he ended the _Nightmare_ tour. “Keep kissin’ me,” I murmured, sucking at his bottom lip as he moved over me and notched our hips together.

He has an enthusiasm for kissing that is infectious. Truly, Alex loves to kiss, to taste, to take his time and connect in that manner, innocently intimate and full of plush, sweet love. God, he tasted good, like the wine we’d grown fond of, and had found its way into the studio every now and then, like cigarettes, like buttery croissant, like Alex, and I couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t stop opening my mouth for him, sliding tongues together in a way that made our hips roll and arch against one another. Alex moaned hoarsely as I tugged at his hair with one hand, and cupped his jaw with the other, pulling his mouth against mine with little grace. Teeth clicked. Tongues lashed. Soon enough, our breathing became rapid, and shallow, and we stared at each other when our lips weren’t touching, dazed eyes matching, open mouths full of pent up frustration, and carnality. 

“I want you,” Alex murmured very carefully, eyes drifting half closed as they slid down my face, over my throat, to the buttons on my shirt. Sitting back on his heels, he held my hips between his knees, and one by one pulled each button free of its buttonhole prison, ducking to slide his lips over every swath of scorching skin that was newly exposed. 

He turned his head, and his hands swept my shirt open around my torso, before his tongue brushed over my nipple. An explosion of heat, and electricity, ebbed in my body, flowed through my veins, and I groaned, holding his head there while his mouth explored, and teased. I felt like I was slowly being eaten alive, and I loved every pinch his teeth made on my skin, the way his tongue was wet and quickly soothed, the heaviness of his hands as they dug grooves in my skin and muscle, over my ribs, my stomach, to my hips, where he yanked at my jeans with urgency.

“Off,” he pouted, already working my belt open.

“Christ, Alex, are you - should we be doin’ this-”

“ _Shh_ ,” he scolded, shaking his head and humming as my fingers slipped through his hair and down the back of his neck. “Don’t - don’t say owt, Mi,” he growled, ducking his head and placing a sucking kiss to the left of my navel as his short fingernails skimmed the surface of my skin. He hummed as I bucked and hissed.

I was helpless. I didn’t want him to stop; I didn’t want to be the one to stop him. Alex was focused, on a mission, and he’s incredibly stubborn when he’s given himself a task for completion. Beneath him, I writhed against the couch, raising my hips, nodding, and together we worked the belt of my jeans open, unsnapped the button and slid the zipper down. His hand was warm and firm as it wiggled into denim and cupped me through my briefs, squeezing.

It was like we’d never been apart.

That’s the best thing about Alex, really: he’s like coming home. There’s always some change to the exterior, and the decoration, but inside I know his layout, I know the secret halls, the doorways that lead to nowhere, the cracks in the plaster he never really bothered fixing because he knew I didn’t mind. I know him.

God, we must have made such a lovely sight on that couch, all that hair out of place, clothes peeled back like a flower forced to bloom - he’d stopped his groping of my cock to sit back again, this time ridding himself of his shirt, and lifting my hands to his chest. As soon as my hands started moving of their own accord, he tilted his head back and sighed, hips swinging forward and down into mine in a lewd display that would make an equestrian blush. Every turn of my hands led to further warming his skin and memorizing the load bearing beams of his spine and shoulders, ribs and hips. 

He reached between us and pushed his hand into my jeans once more, fingers groping until he found what he was looking for, made evident by my desperate moan, and the ragged way I breathed his name. With a smirk, he looked down at me, and began tugging my jeans down my hips, shifting when I lifted my lower body to help him with his task. He scooted down a moment later, and all I saw was the top of his dark head, and the way his shoulders gathered and flexed, and then I felt his breath on the skin below my navel. The wet flash of his tongue came next, scraping over coarse hair, sliding lower, never quite tasting where I wanted him to, and doing a damn fine job of making me shake, and beg.

My breath was shuddering as I tugged at his hair, combing it back from his face, and he lifted his gaze as his tongue lashed over the line of my hip. “Christ, Alex,” I murmured, the weight of his gaze pinning me in place.

“Shhh,” he answered with a smile. “Let me take care of you, yeah? It’s been so fookin’ long, Mi, and so has the day, an’ I really just wanna...wanna make you feel good, yeah?”

“Oh-oh-kay,” I stuttered, nodding, moving with him until my jeans and briefs were tugged down to mid thigh. His hand found my cock immediately, and I watched in awe as he softly fisted my length, before pursing his lips at the tip.

Alex never does anything half-assed, and I had too look away. The pleasure on his face as he worked his mouth around me was almost too much. He was right. It had been too long. We’d been fooling ourselves the entire time, trying to stay away from one another, foolishly hoping that the spark between us had been just that, a short-lived flare, and not a dormant volcano just waiting for the right amount of pressure, and time.

As thorough as he was, it wasn’t nearly enough, though, and his slow and steady teasing had me bucking into the hot, sucking heat of his mouth. My eyes crossed as his answering moans vibrated in his throat, and right through my cock, and my hands became insistent, curling into fists in his hair and pulling him further down until heard him choking wetly, and felt him fight my grip until he leaned back, gasping for breath.

I managed to ask him if he was alright, and when he nodded, tongue poking that full bottom lip of his, I sneered, growling my need, and hauling his mouth right back to where I wanted it. “C’mon, Al,” I murmured, another gasp leaving me as he swallowed me down in one go. “Yeah, that’s good, innit? Hmm? Fuck, you feel so good, laa.”

At the risk of sounding cliche, it was heaven, truly, or what I imagine heaven might be like. The walls of the studio fell away, the bar of the worn couch digging into my back became nothing more than a wonderful addition to the sensation of Alex surrounding me, servicing me, making me feel so bloody good, so perfect, so completely carefree and weightless. I sighed in my tranquility.

He wrenched another groan from me when he began fumbling with his own belt. I heard the buckle clearly, and then the rustle of fabric, and then his own groan swelled from his throat and was muffled by my cock. He pulled off with a rather obscene slurp, and leaned back slightly to adjust, and show me what he was up to: while one hand curled around the slick length of my cock, his other was now stroking his own cock in time, and he seemed torn as to what he wanted to watch more. Wiggling his hips, his jeans slid down the curve of his ass, and he moved back, braced one hand next to my hip, and resumed what I now deem as one of the best blow jobs he’s ever given me, all the while working his own cock. The idea that sucking my cock was turning him on that much made me harder, made me pulse in his mouth, and paused his work with another chuckle.

“Don’t come yet,” he murmured, kissing the tip, sucking it, pushing his tongue into the slit at the top and lapping at the precome pulsing freely.

My fingers tightened in his hair as I gritted my teeth at the sensations flooding my nerves. “ _Fuck_ ,” I hissed. “Then stop bloody suckin’ me cock so goddamn perfectly,” I growled.

He smiled then, that knee-shaking, heart-melting, grab-you-up-and-kiss-you smile that always sends me reeling, lips still pressed firmly to the tip of my cock as he did so. He hummed, and then batted his eyes quite prettily, before his tongue licked a long stripe up the underside of my shaft. “Then stop makin’ it so appealing,” he whispered, finally backing off and moving to kiss me once more.

The taste of myself on his lips set loose the coil of lust that had been winding tightly inside of me. My arms wrapped around him as the kiss deepened, and lengthened, and the feel of our naked chests touching was achingly sweet. His cock brushed against mine, and he gasped, pulling his mouth away from mine, before he looked down between us and rolled his hips, making his cock slide against mine once more. It was electricity, pulsing and bright, and numbing. Again he moved, and then again, and the more we frotted and bucked, the slicker our cocks became, and the harder I held onto him. My fingertips bruised his upper arms as I was overcome with the need to just have him in any way possible. 

We’d never talked about this part - about who would be the giver, and who would be the one to receive. But he let me move him until his back met the other end of the couch, and I was hovering over him, my hand wedged firmly between his thighs, pressing them apart to make room for me. 

He was game, panting and moaning, nodding his head, pressing his lips anywhere he could, begging me, “Please, Mi, please, I want you so bad.” His hand left my shoulder and then fumbled around near his thighs, at the pockets of his jeans, whining when he became frustrated.

“What, Al?’ I murmured, kissing him soft and deep. “Hmm? Tell me what you need?”

He laughed softly and looked up into my eyes. “I need the fookin’ lube out me pocket if this is gonna work.”

I laughed with him, and nodded. “Right. Yeah.” I reached down and found his pocket easily enough, and came up with a little tube of the stuff, and held it between us.

He grunted with a nod, and pulled my face back to his. “Condom’s in the other pocket,” he informed before pressing his teeth to my bottom lip and tugging.

“Did you,” I panted softly, reaching for his other pocket. “Did you plan this?”

He shook his head and pushed his jeans down further. “Joost prepared for anything.”

“Bloody boy scout,” I snickered, tucking the foil packet between my teeth and reaching to help him with his jeans.

I don’t know what made my head swing back towards the booth, but suddenly I became all too aware of the red light flashing that indicated we were in session - like, actually, literally, legitimately in session, the whole thing being recorded. I froze, and squeaked.

“Mi?” Alex breathed, wrapping his arms under mine and pulling me close.

“Shit!” I scrambled out of his hold and twisted off of him, pulling my jeans up in the process, and trying to scurry to the door.

“Miles?” Alex called again, rather bereft and confused.

“The...jesus _fuck_ , the bloody _light_ is on, Al!” I turned to look at him, jabbing my thumb back over my shoulder with repeated stabbing motions. “Alex!” I hissed when he merely blinked and cocked his head.

Realization caught up with him a split second later, and the change from confusion to panic was rather humorous, when I think back on it. At the time, though, my heart was in my throat, ears ringing, face flushed as words and sounds and whispers from only minutes before began flooding my mind. “Shit, shit, _shit_!” I wiggled into my jeans and heard Alex flop onto the floor as he hurried to do the same.

“Ow - _fuck_ \- Mi, wait, what-”

“It was when you were fiddlin’ with the board!” I snapped, wrenching the door to the booth open and skidding into the small, glass-walled room. I stared at the switches and buttons, trying to locate the ‘rec’ button, as my heart pounded wildly.

Alex sailed past me, holding his jeans up in the back with one hand, the other already outstretched and reaching for the red ‘rec’ button. He slapped his palm down on it with a cry, and then held his hand there, trying to force the thing into the board, down to the foundations of the studio. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath he took, and finally he looked over his shoulder at me, shaking his hair from his eyes. “Think we should make a copy of that?”

“Fuck you, delete it, delete it, _delete it_!” I hissed, my voice strangled and deranged with anxiety. 

“Delete what?”

In tandem, Alex and I both turned to the doorway of the booth and found Ford staring at us, his head cocked to one side as he scratched it, contemplating our state of undress. 

“Nowt!” It was Alex’s turn to squeak. He quickly looked back to the board and began flipping switches, hopefully erasing everything that had just gone on.

It was burned into my memory permanently, anyway.

“Um...right,” Ford murmured, obviously confused, and more than a little bit uncomfortable.

“We were just rehearsin’,” I blurted out, keenly aware of how suspicious that sounded. I would have face-palmed myself had Ford not been staring at me, clearly trying to keep the mirth from flooding his features.

“Sure,” he shrugged, fighting a smirk. “Something...um...new?”

“Ah, nah, we’ve been workin’ on it for a while,” I kept right on ploughing forward, my mouth gone wild with panic, and I couldn’t stop the words from falling out, thick with unplanned innuendo. “Just can’t...get the timing...right.” I finished flatly and then bit my tongue, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed up by the ground.

Ford stared at me for a moment, and then looked past me to Alex. I turned, too, and found that the smaller lad was very much interested in the mid level adjustment knobs. “Yeah, just can’t make it work,” he mumbled, his cheekbones turning pink.

“Right,” Ford murmured. “Well...just...lock up, I guess? And...make sure you...get some sleep...and don’t wear each other out. I mean yourselves. I mean...um...bye.” He shot out of the booth a second later, and Alex and I breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Think he suspects?” Alex asked as we gathered our shirts from the floor of the studio.

“Please,” I uttered, disgusted with myself. I may as well have just told Ford I was trying to screw Alex on the couch, for all the good my attempt at explaining us away had done. “We were in here with no shirts on, Alex.”

Alex was silent for a moment. Then, he quietly continued, “Think he’ll say anyhtin’?”

“Don’t think so,” I answered honestly.

And, he didn’t. But there were no more late night sessions in the studio, and three days later, Alexa came to Paris for a visit. That seemed to scare Alex straight for the next little while - he’s told me as much, since. But at the time, the only thing I could concentrate on was that the universe really did have it in for us, and that we weren’t meant to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go a bit Frank Spencer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> I don't know what it is about these guys and cocaine, but there's drug use here, and strung out lead singers, and angst. Oh, the ANGST. I couldn't help it. And I could't help the Jamex. It's just a knee jerk reaction, whatever verse I'm in, these three are all entangled in some way, shape, or form. Anyway...we've had a laugh, a few I think, but sometimes it's best if we just let reality come crashing down. Gratuitous use of house construction metaphors, some bits are a stream of conscious. Thanks for indulging me :)

I am nervous.

It is such a small thing, and silly, to be nervous about calling Miles, asking him to come to our show. I haven’t given any thought beyond the hole he left, suddenly gaping and apparent in these new songs, and a new record. We’ve never been apart this long. The time spanning from the end of the _Humbug_ tour to the next recording sessions in LA was made easier by Miles’ arrival, and collaboration, but it was one week out of many, and then he was gone, back to London to do his own work.

I have not seen him for four months.

I am selfish to want him here, waiting for me in the wings.

I ask him anyway. “So...you’ll be here?” I hold my tongue between my teeth, and close my eyes, waiting for Miles’ reply.

It comes right away, of course, almost before I’m done asking my question. “Of course, laa,” he chuckles, as if I were daft to ask. “Wouldn’t miss it. Can’t let you ‘ave all the fun.”

I laugh a little bit, relieved that he’s going to come, and that perhaps he’ll stay a while.

Miles laughs, too, and then the silence stretches out between us, comfortable and warm despite the distance. But when I hear the metallic click of the hotel room door opening, I quickly turn and pad to the balcony, pulling out my cigarettes as I go. With one lit, I drag on it for a second, turning my gaze back to the room where Jamie has entered, tossing his jacket onto the bed and giving me a wave before collapsing back on the bed with what I know is a long sigh.

“...me guitar?”

“Hmm?” I blow a stream of smoke rings. “Sorreh, Mi, what was that?”

I am anxious.

“Should I bring me guitar? We can fiddle about before an’ after.”

I smile fondly. “We _do_ have _505_ on the setlist.”

“Of course you do,” Miles replies. “I’ll be sure to bring the Gretsch.”

He rings off a few moments later, citing dinner reservations with friends, and my eyes flick back to the bed where Jamie lays in wait, arms now folded beneath his head, ankles crossed, eyes closed.

The desert does funny things with heat, and time.

Not everything is diamonds these days.

I am too stubborn to admit it.

+

I am dissolving.

“You all right?”

Jamie’s voice is barely audible over the roar of the shower, but with his lips pressed near my ear where he stands behind me, I hear him all the same.

“M’fine,” I reassure him.

I am not ‘fine’.

Things have become disjointed since the desert, and I feel everything slipping between my fingers like that coarse sand strewn about Joshua Tree.

“Mmm,” he hums thinly, not quite convinced.

I can’t blame him. I’ve always been a bit shit at lying.

“It’s Miles, isn’t it?” Jamie says a few seconds later, even as his hands sluice water down my chest, swirling the soap suds away before cupping my hips and holding me against his chest. “He’s coming tonight?” His voice is ragged, and tired, but he won’t be deterred. His teeth find my earlobe, biting quick, and sharp, before he sucks. His hips press against my ass, and I groan at how he feels, big, and hard, hot, ready to fuck.

I _don’t_ want to talk about Miles, not when Jamie’s hands are making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on my emotions. I shake my head weakly, and pass my hand over Jamie’s wrist, pausing his search before pushing him further along, until we’re both carding fingers through the dark hair surrounding my suddenly aching cock. I’m detached from everything as I watch Jamie move my other hand to the tile wall before us, pinning it there with his own hand, curling his fingers over mine. It doesn’t take much to ply me. His weathered touch, perfected in a haze of afternoons, makes me hard in moments, and he grunts in reply, and moves his foot between mine, widening my stance.

I tell myself it’s just water on me face, and the heat of it all is making me breathless, but it seems like this time, Jamie and I have come to a sudden halt. I have to force myself to find a rhythm with his hips, and turn my face into my arm, sucking water from my skin and grunting against the burn of each churning thrust. It feels like the first time all over again, and very much like the last time ever that we’ll be like this. The novelty is wearing off, and reality is setting in:

He’ll never leave Katie.

An’ I’ll always love Miles.

+

When I see him, it’s like suddenly everything is going to implode, and the bits and pieces that are left of me are going to drift down to earth and settle into some new version of myself. That’s what Miles is to me: redemption. No matter my transgression, Miles will always be there for me, and maybe that’s a shit way to look at it, but it’s the truth, and it works for us. He picks up my pieces, and maybe has to carry some for a spell, but he’s never complained, and that is a rarity in this world.

But for now, instead of myself falling apart, everything else falls away as I watch him throw himself into the dressing room, arms in the air, a flash of exuberance to put the charge in my veins. He is greeted with open arms, of course, by Matt and Nick, and though Jamie shakes his hand and gives him a half an embrace, there is friction there, and I know that Jamie is sizing the Scouser up. Miles is blessedly oblivious; I’ve not told him about those endless desert days spent recovering from mine and Jamie’s sex.

And because I’ve not been completely honest with him, or meself, he kisses me when we get close enough, his arm wrapping behind my shoulder and pulling me so his lips can press soundly against mine. It’s electricity, plain and simple, and I hear a throat clear before someone pushes past us, out into the hallway.

“Cookie?” Matt asks, already moving to follow.

I find Nick’s gaze as I turn to survey the room. He merely shrugs and then follows the same path that Jamie and Matt took.

“What was tha’ about?” Miles wonders out loud. 

“Dunno,” I answer quietly, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“C’mere,” Miles growls, curling his arm around my neck once more. “An’ kiss me properly.”

I feel my mouth quirk with a smile, despite the twist in my guts. “Pull you apart?” I murmur, glancing towards his lips.

“Every time,” he sighs, before quickly pushing his lips to mine.

Backed against a counter’s ledge, Miles spares little time in getting my jeans open, his mouth hot, and rough against my neck as his hand pushes into my jeans and curls around my cock. It still aches from the going over Jamie gave me earlier, and I whine against Miles’ jaw, and still his hand. 

“Wait,” I whisper, pulling back and looking at Miles. 

Flushed, and needy, Miles can only blink those dazzling hazel eyes of his, waiting for me to explain why I’m delaying the inevitable.

“I...you joost got ‘ere,” I shrug, letting my hands rest on his shoulders before sweeping up to cup his face, and then feather through his hair. “An’ I’ve got a show,” I add, gesturing to the door. “We ain’t got much for privacy.”

“Always so rational, love,” Miles smiles. But he nods, and I know for the moment I’ve gotten through to him. “Well...let’s get you warmin’ up at least, yeah?” His hands are steady as he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, and comes up with somethin’ else I didn’t know I was missing until this very moment. I stare at it, and then stare at him, and nod eagerly. 

+

I am high.

It’s in me veins, and swirlin’ about, making everything bright, and flashing, fast, and loud. It’s good, this feeling, this thing he does, it’s good, I tell myself, smiling as hands clamour at the front of the stage. We are on fire tonight, or at least I am, head to toe, everything in between, and it’s only during the beginning of _Propeller_ that things start to scorch. 

I’ve been waitin’ this entire time for Miles to come so I’d get right, so he could turn me out, turn me on, get me started. 

All this time, I joost been idlin’ wiv Jamie.

I sniff at the thought, and there must have been summat left from the pair of pretty white lies I told myself in the dressing room before the boys returned, because there’s a charge of speed snapping up my spine, an’ I’m certain my fingers will fumble and flail at any moment.

Jamie’s not payin’ attention, leavin’ me to flounder, and I’m choked. Scanning the wings, I see Miles smiling broadly, his head bobbing with the rhythm in my chest. Miles grounds me, and puts me back together.

I love Miles an’ I love cocaine, an’ I think tonight I love Miles’ cocaine more, because it’s something to put inside, to taste and weigh and measure. Miles stands next to me backstage after we take our bow, our tribute made evident by another performance of the Death Ramps, a healthy ruse for puppets on the run.

We are reckless.

We dash down corridors, his hand clasped around mine, dragging me behind him as he sings, and jumps, tails of his jacket flapping as I flick sweat from my hair and laugh, staggering behind him. There are echoes behind us, and I force myself to ignore the familiar pull of Jamie calling me name. He’s as stubborn as I am, and it will never work for us. Even I know when to let things go. 

I tighten my fingers around Miles’, and find myself in a taxi, speeding through London back to his place. We are quick to snort more coke in the cab, between stifling kisses, around our giggling and our sighs. 

We are high and in love with it, in all manner of ways.

We are high, and we will not be struck down.

+

I am soft.

The realization makes me push my mouth harder against Miles’, makes me grab his hips and shove him back so I can grind, rut, hump, anything to get my blood going in the right direction. My tongue is thick and tingling, my brain is crackling with the panic that I’m soft, I’m right here, nothing holding me back, and I’m soft.

I am selfish.

I am deconstructed.

“Fuck,” I curse sharply, snarling when I pull from Miles’ kisses. My teeth feel capped and ragged, like I need to tear some part of him away in order for this to work. The thought scares me, and I scramble back, causing Miles to blink his eyes open and frown with concern.

“Al?”

My brain is singing sharply, chiding me in my impotence, and I can’t get away from Miles fast enough.

“Just a dab,” I utter, finding his slacks and digging through his pockets. “Summat to get me goin’, I’m fookin’ knackered, you realize.” I’m speaking to myself, but Miles takes on the mission.

“Al, love, slow down. Are you okay?” 

His voice is tightening like...like the way his arse does when he’s about to come for me, _Christ_ Alex, get it the _fook_ together, you want this, yeah? Want this so bad that you can’t fookin’ think straight, that your cock isn’t workin’, a major malfunction- I pause my thoughts as my fingers close around a small, glass vial.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Alex, relax. It’s okay, this sort of thing happens - you’re tired, I know. More coke isn’t gonna-”

But I’ve already got the cap off, you see? Am I talking out loud? I must be, my cheeks are reddening as Miles confirms the fact my dick won’t get hard and I can’t fuck that little fucker right in his uptight Liverpool arse.

“ _Alex_!”

I pause. “Miles?” Since when the _fook_ did he raise his voice with me?

“You selfish prick, if you’re so hell bent on destroyin’ yourself, then bottoms up, you fookin’ sugar junkie. Get it thick in your veins. Just don’t think for a second this is cute - or does this shit fly with Jamie?”

I don’t _care_ \- “I don’t _care_ what you’re sayin’, Mi, just give me mine, yeah? Been waitn’ on you long enough, can’t keep anythin’ straight, an’ jesus fookin christ I’m tellin you I want to fuck you MIles but I can’t get a fookin’ hard on, right?” I grab my useless cock for emphasis, growling at the ferocity of my blood, and the look on Miles’ face as the venom slowly winds its way inside. 

“That it, then? That’s what I am to you?” He’s tearing his trousers from my hands and shaking them out, pulling them up his legs to hang on his hips. His cock is still half hard, waving in its supremacy over mine, making me a joke. I shove him, hands landed squarely, thudding on his chest.

He tries to wrestle the vial from me then, twisting his fingers against mine, but I sneer, and pull my hands back, nails dragging his blood to the surface. I smile at the sight. The white powder is stuffed up me nose, and smeared on my gums faster than anythin’ else i’ve ever done, and it’s only a moment later that I’m rocked on my heels, and wheeling backwards into the table.

I am a two-stone sledge hammer.

“Smug fucker,” Miles seethes, snatching the empty vial from my fingers and pitching it to the bin. My heart feels like it’s going to burst out me chest, and Miles is suddenly leaning down over me as I slip and fall, crashing to the lowest point in my existence. “You wanna kill yourself, find a less cliche way to do it.” He peers into my eyes and then sighs, glancing back towards the bed. “I swear to _Christ_ , Turner, if I have to haul your ass up-”

+

I am awake.

“Miles?”

It is the first word past my lips when I suddenly rush to the surface. My limbs are heavy, my eyelids are led, words echo and fade, and my mouth is dry.

“Here.” He is neither warm nor comforting.

I let my eyes open slowly. It is still dark, darker than midnight, that time when it is darkest: three am.

“What happened?”

“Apparently I didn’t realize how hard you’d go on the stuff.”

I blink to clear my vision and he’s there, sitting on the edge of the opposite bed, and the only ambient light from the balcony makes shadows on his face. “I want you,” I murmured. “I wanted you so badly I was terrified that I’d lose hold of you.”

“And Jamie?” He doesn’t miss a beat.

“What about him?” Neither do I.

“Were you gonna tell me about that?”

“There’s nowt to-”

“Don’t,” Miles sighs heavily, shaking his head. “Just...don’t. You’re a coke fiend, Alex, I don’t need you to be a lying sack of shit, too.”

I shrug, looking away to where the table is still leaning against the wall, chair overturned, my clothes strewn about. I glance down and see the bruises on my chest and hips that Jamie left, and the bite marks on my thighs tingle with remembrance. My neck is raw and itching from where his stubble had scraped me. “Had a real good look, eh?” I mutter, clenching my fist. “Give me a go over when I were blacked out, eh, Miles? Find what you were lookin’ for?”

“I’m going to assume that’s the coke talking.”

“Fuck the coke, Miles, you want to know what I’m doing wiv Cookie? Fine. I’m getting shagged by him. He fucks my arse and I fookin’ love it, is that what you want to hear?”

Miles flinches at my choice of words and looks away. For a moment, he worries his lip, and then he looks back at me. “Are you even listening to yourself? Christ, Alex, this isn’t you, this is so far from you that I’m startin’ to wonder if you remember the road back.”

“Yeah, yeah this is me own fookin’ fault, ain’t it, Miles? Alex fookin’ Turner grew up, grew a pair, an’ gave ‘is cherry to his childhood friend, how fucked up is that, then? I don’t presume you’d understand-”

“You could try to explain it. I don’t make any assumptions about us, Alex, not with the way things are between us, but I’m of a mind that if you’d keep this a secret from me, there’s a reason for it.”

“You weren’t there,” I simplify.

Miles scoffs. “That’s rubbish, an’ you know it.”

“No, Miles, it’s the truth. You weren’t there. I took meself out there, we all did, an’ I did what I was needed to happen. Jamie an’ I both did. We tore everythin’ down and started from scratch.” My hands unfold on my lap and words come, they spill, and they stain everything.

I am spiralling.

“We built it so slowly, but didn’t bother with the foundation, with making sure that was solid. He’s stretched too thin, used up the strongest beams already. We had nowt but a rickety framework, an’ we thought we’d put a grand room in next to the well of our will. We laid thin walls with damask, crown moulding over cracked window cases, and hoped that it looked good from the outside.” I stopped short and made a disgusted sound. “We failed miserably. It were a fookin’ slum, an’ we were the junkies livin’ in the hallway.”

I am crying.

I rub furiously at my eyes as fat, hot tears roll down my face. I can’t stop them, they come so quickly, and soon I hear Miles move, and then the bed beneath me shifts. I smell his cologne, faded and warm, smell the bar still clinging to his skin, and my arms twitch to reach around him, to pull him towards me, but I don’t deserve that, an’ he don’t deserve this.

“Alex. You’re so much more than this dependency.” His voice wavers an’ I try to ignore it.

Miles is crying, too.

Is he talking about the cocaine, or is he talking about Cookie? Because right now, I feel condemned by both. I sniff, and say nothing.

“Fine, I’ll talk, you listen.” He moves closer, but doesn’t touch me, doesn’t engage beyond his voice carrying words that make me wince, make my throat ache, and my teeth grind together as I am close to bursting.

“I love you,” I hear him say. He’s been talking the entire time, but this is what I hear, and it shatters me.

“No, Mi, you don’t-”

“Do _not_ tell me who I love an’ who I don’t.” There is a warning tremor in his words. “I love you, Alex. I’ve never said it because I didn’t think you’d want to hear it. But you _need_ to hear it, yeah? You need to know that I love you, an’ that you can’t make me stop loving you. I need to say it. You don’t have to say it back yet. But if you _do_ feel the same way, at some point, you’re going to have to stop all of this bullshit and just let yourself have it. You deserve to be loved, an’ to love someone back, okay?”

I am a coward.

He’s said it, an’ I’m _still_ terrified of putting myself out there.

Instead I nod stiffly, still staring at the floor, and I manage to choke out, “Okay,” before I pull my lip between my teeth. I feel the mattress spring up as Miles goes to leave and a wilted gasp leaves me. “Stay?” It’s more than I wanted to say, I always hope that people can read my mind, but I’m starting to think that it would be a terrible waste of an afternoon.

Miles is soon behind me, sliding between cool sheets and pulling me down with him. Only, it doesn’t feel constricting, it doesn’t feel like impending doom, like I’m delaying the inevitable. He will not wake in the morning and see me and make an excuse as to why he needs to be back in his room. He will not try to pin me down and hold me there to use as means to his own ends. I will not give him the cold shoulder when I feel I’ve been too hasty with my passions, and I will not apologize for my past transgressions. 

For the first time, in a very long time, I feel free, I feel safe, I do not feel scattered among the dead and dying things we left out in the desert.

I am drowning in the terrifying sea that is the love surrounding me, and I do not wish to come up for air.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things turn upside down on the bottom half of the globe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> So, this takes place during their January 2012 tour of Australia, and was based around the pictures from the Adelaide show with Alex sporting the lipstick print on his cheek. I've no real insight on Miles' feelings for Arielle, so take from it what you will, it's all fiction anyway, innit? Thanks brbie for sourcing the photo for me so I could keep this clear in my head :) And...there's slight reference to Cookane, I couldn't help it, all right? God, Cookie's such a slut, hopping from bed to bed.

_**Melbourne** _

“This is Arielle.”

I have to smile at the girl with cinnamon colored hair and killer cheekbones. It’s nothing she’s forcing me to do, mind you. Rather, it’s the warmth in Alex’s voice when he says her name, the way he’s looking at her, and then at me, gauging my reaction.

My hand shoots out and I say, “Finally, love! Al hasn’t shut up about you!”

And really, he hasn’t. On and on, for weeks now, about how funny Arielle is, and how smart she is, how cute, and incredibly sweet she is, and how she gets him fancy coffees that he can’t even pronounce and are far too sugary, but he drinks anyway because he can’t stand to see her pout.

“Really?” She blushes, and I want to wrap her up in my arms and smother her.

To death.

“Because he’s the same way about _you_!” She pumps my hand up and down with vigour and then she looks at Alex and smiles fondly. “I’m so happy to meet his best mate!”

That’s right, darling. _Best. Mate._ In all senses of the words.

I sigh and smile and nod, and allow Alex to buy me a beer.

I have never been so fucking fake before, and never before in front of Alex. He hasn’t said anything, hasn’t given me that pointed look, or that tilt of the head that tells me he knows something’s wrong and he’s going to find out, so I can assume one of two things: either I’m hiding my dislike of this girl really, really well, or he’s crammed so far up her cunny that he doesn’t care to come up for air.

I like to think I’m a good liar. I’ll go with that. A confidence man, though at this point I have anything but. My nerves are jangled, part from the hellish flight to meet them in Melbourne at the beginning of their Australian tour, part from the fact that I’m opening for them for the entirety of said tour, and part because at the last second, Alex told me that ‘Arielle’ would be there, and that finally his two better halves could meet.

My eyes stray to Alex once more as he flags down the bartender in the quiet hotel lounge. Jesus Christ, he’s cut his hair. That was the first thing I thought when I saw him, but then there was Arielle, and I feel like he’s used her to move my attention from the obtuse quiff he’s now sporting.

It almost worked.

He has changed so much, it’s unbelievable. That shy boy from Sheffield is somewhere underneath all that leather and denim and pomade, I can feel it, but there’s a bit of swagger there, a confidence that wasn’t apparent in public, that is suddenly shoving its way to the surface. He’s still got that blue leather jacket on, but it hangs differently now. He’s still got those deep brown eyes, but they are out in the open, no more hiding behind his fringe. Tracing the dramatic arch and point of his widow’s peak, I conclude that I rather like this look on him, minus the redhead with sharp nails.

But then he’s looking at me over her head and he smiles that small, secret smile that is reserved for only me, and I know that I’m in for trouble for the next fourteen days.

+

“What’s the matter, Kane? Been replaced?”

I _knew_ this would happen. Interacting with Cookie is unavoidable at this point, and though I told myself to be civil when the opportunity presented itself, the fact that he’s chosen to break the ice in this manner just makes me hackles raise. Arching an eyebrow, I turn to give Jamie the once over, a little thrown at his fresh appearance.

Alex isn’t the only one who’s sporting new hair.

“Hardly,” I scoff, answering Jamie’s rhetorical question. I don’t give a flying fuck if he wanted an answer or not. I’m knee deep in gin at this point, and I’ve never really been one to hold myself back anyway. When another gin appears without my asking for one, I’m a little surprised, and I glance at Jamie once more.

“What’s this?” I peer at the drink suspiciously.

Jamie laughs. “Hendricks and tonic, mate,” he grins, clapping me on the back none-too-gently. “Takes the sting out, aye?” He nods his chin in the direction I’ve been staring all night. I don’t have to follow his line of sight to know he’s talking about Alex and Arielle. And I don’t miss the gruff hurt in his voice, or the way he swallows the rest of his drink, and immediately picks up the fresh one that came with his peace offering. “Drink up, laa,” he mutters, that sharp accent twisting into something Wirral-riddled. He nudges me with his elbow, and really, he’s got a sound argument.

But in removing one sting, I only cause another.

It probably wasn’t my best decision, but I sat there and flirted with Jamie, let him buy me drinks and smoke my cigarettes, and I was keenly aware of Alex’s gaze landing on me, each moment lengthening, until finally I looked up at him across the room and shrugged, faintly gesturing towards Jamie. _What_ , I silently challenge Alex, you think I can’t have fun if you’re not by my side?

I don’t know what Alex wants these days. The last time we were together in any sort of capacity was when he went overboard and I’d blown snow off the path for him. He’d hit rock bottom at that point, I think, or had come close to it, and he’d shut things down with Jamie and still kept me within reach. Late night calls, silly texts messages, birthday cards and sentimental gifts through the mail, but never anything more. Now it seems he’s still intent on keeping me at that safe, comfortable distance, despite the fact he’s got a girl, and I wonder if he’s holding Jamie with that same precarious grip. 

“I mean, who the _fuck_ does he think he is, Jamie?” I ask as I light a cigarette and blow the smoke into the night air.

We’ve stepped out of the bar, and Jamie’s plucking a cigarette from my pack, letting me light it, smoking it like it’s old hat. Something he must have picked up during those days in the desert that Alex is so mum about.

“Dunno,” Jamie mutters. “Let him go, yeah?”

“Easy for you to say,” I grouse, kicking the damp pavement and watching the traffic roll by.

“Not really,” Jamie shrugs. “But it’s no use holding on so tightly. He’s a slippery lit’l fucker, that Turner.”

And that’s how Jamie and I end up in bed together.

Or, that’s the catalyst, at least: our shared confusion over Alex’s desires, and the fact that we’re both kept for comfort when he’s got nothing left to give, stirred together with copious amounts of liquor all lead back to my room in the hotel. I don’t even care if Alex’s gaze follows us through the lobby to the bank of elevators. I’m sick of being second fiddle, as I’m sure Jamie’s not keen on being on the second string. 

We fuck, me an’ Cookie, and it’s pathetic, really. Sad, bruising, messy, hardly enjoyable, and all I’m left with is a stitch in my lower back, and a blinding hangover. Jamie’s well versed on leaving before the sun breaks through blinds, and I wake to find myself alone among dirty sheets and empty bottles, eagerly accepting an invitation to brunch with Alex and fucking Arielle.

I sit and smile and I’m sick of it all.

+

_**Perth** _

“Happy Birthdaaaayyyyy to youuuuuuuuu!” 

And everyone claps as Alex blushes and then leans over the cake, blowing out the candles. It’s a small affair for being 26, but he seems happy as he throws one arm over my shoulders, and the other over Arielle’s, hugging us both tightly under a facade of tequila and sugared kisses. He’s hell bent on keeping distance between me and Cookie, whom I’ve found companionable silence with. We drink together. We smoke together. We stare out the windows of the lounges together, but we don’t talk. Sometimes we fuck, but more often than not we just return to our respective rooms. I toss off. I’d wager Jamie does the same.

So, when I’m elbow-to-elbow with Cookie at the bar, trying to get another round of margaritas, someone tugs my jacket, and I laugh, spinning, thinking maybe it’s Nick come to tell me a joke, or it’s Matt with the camera again. 

It’s neither. Alex glances at Jamie, who’s turned to take in the entertainment, and then he looks to me and leans close to mutter, “Can I talk to you?”

+

Alex’s version of talking includes lips and tongues, but very few words. It’s been forever since I’ve kissed him, and I remember his flavour and his flair like we’ve never ever stopped, but with the dull roar of his own birthday party going on in the main dining room while we snog each other in an alcove of the restaurant lobby, I’m not falling under his spell as readily as he hopes. I push him away after a moment and stare at him as he glares back at me.

“What the fook, Mi,” he growls, pulling at my suit jacket and dragging me towards him again.

“I thought you wanted to talk?” I argue, turning my head so his lips crash on my jaw.

“I wanna fuck,” he replies, fingers digging into my belt loops.

“Then go fuck your girl.”

He shakes his head. “You jealous, Miles?”

I shove him.

Hard.

He hits the opposite wall and he looks a little stunned, lips swollen, eyes wide. Then, he’s grinning, and coming for me again.

“Alex, enough,” I hiss, shoving him again.

He catches my hands where they curl in his leather jacket and he shakes his head, his wilting quiff falling over his glazed eyes. “Not when it comes to you,” he mutters. “It’s never enough when it comes to you. C’mon, Mi, it’s me birthday.” He’s dragging me against him now, and though I have four inches on him, he’s tough, and his hold is like iron. His breath his hot on my neck as one of his hands sails down the front of shirt, over my slacks, where his fingers flex on the hard on I can’t help but have. “That’s what I thought,” he purrs, pushing against my cock and making me moan.

“Alex, this isn’t the time or the place-”

He snorts, interrupting my protest. “You’ll give Cookie a go an’ then turn into a prude wif me?”

This time, I hit him.

Open palm right across his mouth, and fuck me if he doesn’t look like he’s about to murder me. Then, he laughs, and nods, that fucking flip of hair bouncing as he does so. He swipes his thumb along his bottom lip and cocks his jaw with another smile. 

“Maybe you should call it a night,” Alex says coolly, eyes brittle and hard.

“Maybe I should,” I agree, already shaking from the adrenaline in my veins. I shove past him and make my way to the elevators.

Alex is a stubborn asshole, made apparent from the way he dogs my steps.

The ascension is blurred. Somewhere between the first and third floors Alex has talked me to my knees. His grin is smug, but short-lived, when I show him all the things he’s forgotten. Hands clamped on his thighs, his jeans unbuttoned and shoved down past his bum, I’ve got no gag reflex when I’m this drunk and he’s all but howling at the numbers lighting up on the wall. Past the fifth floor, I’m on my feet, letting him shove me into the mirrored walls of the car as he wrestles with my belt, and finally gets a hand down on me. We are snagging lips with teeth, hissing and cursing at one another, and this probably isn’t the best idea, but it’s been so long, and I’m so sick and tired of everything.

The elevator comes to a halt and our mouths part as the doors do, revealing Matt with a rather expectant look on his face. 

He doesn’t say anything, just looks from Alex, to me, and then back to Alex, sighing as he does. “Told Arielle I’d come find you. That you tend to wander when you’re drunk.” Matt looks at me once more, and his eyes are heavy, cold slate, unflinching. “C’mon,” he says softly, putting a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“M’not done,” Alex murmurs as he lets Matt drag him backwards out of the elevator.

The doors close and ride back down, the descent slow, and spiralling.

The scary thing is that I’m not done, either. Don’t think I ever will be.

+

_**Adelaide** _

“Santa Kane!”

I flip Nick off and smooth my hands down the front of my red suit jacket. They’re constantly taking the piss outta me for my fashion sense, but they dress like a pair of reject greasers, one emo bass player, and a frat boy who doesn’t know what a proper pair of slacks looks like.

The others laugh, and I do, too, because if you can’t laugh at yourself or the situation you’re in, then what the fuck, y’know? I leave off to find Jay and George because I’m in a mood tonight, and I’m going to fucking light 2500 souls on fire and burn them out before Alex gets his hands on them.

I’m not a fucking support gig. I am _the_ gig.

This is my scene, and I play it very well.

+

“You slayed them.”

Alex is tight by my side, arm thrown over my shoulder, lips to my ear.

I grin and wrap an arm behind his back.

The fact that I’m sweating from my set doesn’t deter him, and I find myself backed into a corner. He’s muttering something about how watching me gets him hot, and how he knows that when I perform I get turned on. He’s not wrong. But he is, oh _Christ_ he is, this is so wrong, watching him go down on me, his perfect quiff falling into his eyes, his leather jacket bunching at his shoulders, creaking with every movement of his arm as he palms what he can’t get into his throat. His fingers press back, prod, disappear, into his mouth, and then come back, sinking in with first his middle finger, and then his ring finger on the next pass, flexing and stretching, barely glancing off that spot inside that makes me see sparks. He deepthroats me again, and my fingers snare the back of his quiff, making him choke on a curse. 

He blinks up at me rather dreamily, pulling back with a line of spit from his bottom lip to the tip of my cock, and it’s surreal. Outside those doors, the crowd is clamouring for him and his, outside those doors, someone prowls the hallways looking for him, wondering why he’s not answering the phone that’s going off in the inside pocket of his slick jacket.

There’s banging on the door, “Al, you in there? We’ve got ten, let’s go!” Matt barks, of course they sent Matt, and I can hear the snarl in his words, the urgency, the weight that says, _I’m sick of running interference._

Alex blinks again, and sits back on his heels, tucking me back into my slacks and giving me a condescending pat when he’s zipped me slacks back into place. “Best keep that to yourself for now,” he breathes. He climbs to his feet, reaches for his comb - a fucking comb in his back pocket, I can’t even begin to lament the dull-tasting cliche - and he works his quiff back with practiced strokes. His eyes are fixed on his reflection, as I watch from behind him, slightly agog, more than turned on, and all hopes dashed and doused with reality.

“Here we fookin’ go,” he smirks, leaning to push a kiss onto my cheek.

I don’t move until he’s out the door, and I rub at my cheek, trying to dispel the lingering heat of his lips.

Moments before they’re due on stage and the crowd is thundering madly, having found their second wind, Alex dashes up to the wings, surrounded by his mates, Arielle in tow. He turns to me, knowing I’ll be there, waiting in the wings.

Always waiting in the wings.

He’s covered in her kisses, a bright press of something pink and sticky on his cheek.

Did he kiss her with taste of my dick still on his tongue?

I lift a two-fingered salute at him, and my smile is anything but humorous.

He stares a moment longer and then lifts the corner of his mouth as they are announced to the waiting crowd.

She may have marked him visibly, but I know without a doubt that my mark is indelible.

Still, I stand, and wait in the wings.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> Oh, my goodness. This took forever, so I thank you for your patience (most of you, some of you were quite insistent, lol). I admit that I was a bit torn as to what to do with these two after those four chapters. Doodelstrudel, it's not exactly the way I thought it would work out, which is good, but it's still...a little heart-twingy. If that's a thing. Anyway...the timing of events is a little skewed just for dramatic license. I cried a bit. I hope you all do, as well.
> 
> For brbie / mybrbie because it was her prompt, and her urging for updates that made me finish yet another fic :) I hope this makes your day a little better.
> 
> Told from both Alex's and Miles' POV - Alex is in regular font, Miles is in italics

It’s fairly cliche to begin something with, “It was raining in London when I arrived,” but that’s what it was doing - raining. The temperature for December was just above freezing in England, and instead of snow, the rain came, drenching everything on that particular evening. I was soaked to the bone, both bodily, and emotionally, like newsprint left on a bench when the sky opens up. Close to tearing, falling apart. Horribly transparent. Unable to separate pages and keep stories straight. 

The address I rattled off to the cabbie was from memory, and I watched the familiar streets go by as we tore through the puddles on the streets. Heart in throat. Head in hands. I should have had that last whiskey offered to me by the flirtatious flight attendant. At the time, me head had been swimming, but the cool blast of fresh air outside the terminal, paired with the icy rain, had slapped me closer to sober, and now I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do this. I was throwing myself onto a burning pyre of chance, and I panicked at every red light we stopped at, clutching the handle, wanting nothing more to hurl myself into the street and run in the opposite direction. But then, we’d keep moving, and I’d take a breath and tell myself it was okay, that he’d said it was okay, to let him in, to let him love me. I wanted that. I needed it.

The cab lurched to another stop, and with it my nerve, and I sat there staring up through the rain-streaked windows at the townhouse that Miles owned.

I hadn’t told him I was coming. A quick glance at my watch told me it was nearing eleven pm, but there were still lights on; the one over the front porch illuminated the red lacquered door and the brass _45_ of the address plate. My breath fogged the cold glass of the window, and the cabbie’s impatient clearing of his throat pulled me from my musings.

“Getting off, mate?”

I couldn’t keep the wry smile from curling my mouth, but I merely replied, “Yeah,” before tugging my wallet free from the inside of my jacket and handing over payment to the cabbie’s waiting hand. Leaving him with the change, I grabbed my carry-all, and ducked out into the rain.

Somehow, I made it up the front walk to that red door. The nostalgia for him, combined with that of the holidays, had made the flight almost unbearable, and now that I was faced with the idea of finally seeing him, my hand trembled as I raised it to bestow a smart knock.

But the door opened before I could do so.

Warm air billowed out, and there stood Miles, framed by the warm light coming from his front hall. He stared at me for a beat, clearly confused as to what I was doing there.

“Al?”

I shrugged at him and then looked about, shivering for effect. “It’s fookin’ comin’ down out here, eh? Step aside, Miles, an’ let me in.”

He burst into action, moving back and motioning me to come inside. The door slammed shut behind me, and I felt the warmth in his hand seep into my bones as he pried the carry-all from my grip and set it to one side. “What are you doin’ ‘ere?” he asked before frowning at the way the water rolled off me jacket. “Showin’ up on me stoop, soaked through like an alley cat, Why didn’t ya call?”

There was nothing but affectionate humor in his voice and I relaxed as he tugged my scarf and jacket off me frame and hung them in the closet. “It were kinda...spontaneous,” I answered hesitantly.

Miles paused, looking back from where he fussed with hanging my wet garments, and arched an eyebrow. “You? Spontaneous?” Then, he looked to my carry-all where it sat on his floor, and then back to me. “Must have been a rather hasty exit, eh? I don’t think you’ve ever packed so light. You didn’t even bring your guitar.”

“I’m fookin’ knackered,” was my only reply.

Miles nodded, sympathy clearly etched on his features. “All right,” he replied, taking up my hand once more. “Christ, your hands are freezin’, Al, bout to drop off! C’mon, I’ll fix you a cuppa.”

+

I settled onto a stool in the kitchen as Miles went about making tea. It was one of my favorite past times, really, watching him move about the kitchen, master of brewing, setting the water, measuring loose leaf into the stainless steel diffusers he used: “Paper tea bags, Al,” he’d once explained, “rob you of the natural flavors and oils that are present in the tea leaves.” Of course I’d rolled my eyes at his pretension, but remarked later that he was quite right. I’d never had a cuppa quite as good before. 

The utter normalcy of the situation suddenly struck me - me, comin’ ‘home after a long month of work, an’ Miles immediately springin’ to take care o’me. That feeling of forever crept over me, one that I thought I’d lost with Lex. And, just like it had with Lex, instead of makin’ me terrified, it were calming. Natural. I concluded that with Miles it had been there all along, since the beginning; Miles had always made me feel like this. Like I could tell him anything, all the things that swarmed me head an’ kept me up at night. Things I would only tell my notebooks, the only other voice that of permanent ink.

“Hey - you still awake?” Miles chuckled softly as he moved to stand opposite me at the kitchen counter.

“Yeah,” I blinked, staring at him. I let my gaze wander over his features, noting the leanness in his cheekbones, the stubble dusting his chin and jaw, the way his eyes seemed a bit harder to read. “Missed your face.”

Miles grinned. “Missed yours, too.” He turned away as the kettle whistled, and moved to pour water into our mugs. He soon returned, taking a seat beside me, and slid my mug towards me - no cream, no sugar, straight up, just the way I liked it.

We sipped in amicable silence for a while.

“You headed up North for a spell, then?”

“Reyt, that,” I nodded after swallowing a mouthful of tea. “Mum’s been on me case since March, when…” I trailed off and chewed at my lip. “You know,” I murmured, not wanting to bring up the subject of my former relationship.

Arielle had always been a touchy subject between me an’ Miles, and even though Arielle and I had parted almost a year prior, the events surrounding that still stung. After that, I’d submerged myself completely into touring, staying a fair distance from England, but keeping away from LA, too. I wandered. Drifted, not really sure what I was doing or where I was going. I’d come back in May for Cookie’s wedding, another arduous affair, one that I tried to put on me best smile for; and then I’d been back again in September when Rowley had wed, but it was never long enough to get comfortable.

Sitting there in Miles’ kitchen, sipping tea, talking about everyday things...I felt I could get used to it.

“Soz,” Miles murmured, stealing a quick glance at me.

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied, getting caught up in his hazel eyes. They’d softened somewhat after that initial observation. He seemed rather pensive. “Wot?” I murmured, setting my mug down and turning towards him.

He shrugged, narrow shoulders twitching, and glanced into his tea as if it could tell his fortune. I’m sure his mum would tell him it were so. I watched Miles swirl the contents of his mug and then set it down. “You got this...Dracula thing goin’ on now.”

I stared at him with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon?” My hand automatically flew to my hair, longer now, less precise with the quiff, but slicked back all the same.

“I mean,” his shoulders shook again, trying to keep his laughter to a minimum, and then he sighed fondly, and let his head fall back with a sigh. “Ah, Alex, always changing shapes, aren’t you?”

I shrugged. “M’still the same lump of flesh.”

“But reworked so many times over, sometimes I’m not sure who’s sittin’ beside me.” He leaned closer and looked me in the eye. “Is that you, Alex? Are you in there? It’s me, Mi.”

I tried to smile smoothly, but it wavered on my lips. Out of nervousness, I licked them, and then cleared my throat. “It _is_ me, Mi.”

“Hmm.” It was a neutral answer, and he still watched me closely. “That remains to be seen.”

I considered his words. While it was true that I’d changed a lot since the last time we’d seen each other, the insides were still the same. The way I felt about him was still the same. Seeing an opportunity to prove as much to him, I leaned towards him, tilted my head, and fitted my mouth against his.

He kissed me back immediately, and I smiled. He did the same, and it was like no time had passed. The enthusiasm with which he consumed my mouth made me heart soar, and I pressed harder, opening my mouth under his, slipping my tongue into his mouth, and savouring his taste. Soon enough, his fingers curled into my shirt collar, holding me close, holding himself steady, as he slid closer on his stool.

We broke apart softly moments later, barely leaving an inch between our noses, and merely stared at one another. I’m certain he was feeling the same things I was: elation, excitement, trepidation, and first and foremost, passion. 

I shivered, and then sniffed.

“You better not be gettin’ a cold,” Miles scolded, his mouth quirking into his crooked smile.

“It’s nowt,” I murmured, stealing another kiss. Always taking care o’me, Miles was, even when I didn’t deserve it. I tried to convey my gratitude with that small kiss, but it felt wasted and thin. Instead, I pulled back again and took small comfort in his smile.

His hand fell to my thigh, slid down to my knee, and then fumbled with the collar of my shirt once more. “Damp,” he declared, making a face. “How long were standing out there for?”

“Felt like eternity,” I admitted, finding myself wanting to ask him to keep touching me as he pulled his hand back.

“You’re here now, though,” he replied, barely above a whisper. 

I didn’t miss the way his eyes swept over my mouth, and then back to my gaze.

“Can I stay a bit?” I heard myself dare to ask.

Miles nodded again. “Always. You should get out of those clothes, though. Into the shower.”

I gave him a pointed look.

“Before you catch cold, Alex,” Miles groaned playfully. Still, his eyes sparkled with that familiar mischief I had missed so much.

I couldn’t say no if I had wanted to.

+

There really is nuffin’ like a proper shower to put you at ease. Acquiring a decent shower on the road was always a crap shoot. Standing beneath the waterfall head of Miles’ shower, steam rising up around me, I sighed contentedly, and leaned my forehead against the glass stall, and let the hot water ease my airline-cramped muscles. The tea had done its trick and I was relaxed, but the water thunderin’ down around me and drowning everything out - the sound of me thoughts, an’ even me voice - was welcome.

I do some of me best thinkin’ in the shower - that lit’l speech at the Brit Awards was no exception, an’ now, absently scrubbin’ me bits and pieces, I let my mind wander through a thousand scenarios, wondering how this evening might get screwed over. We were doomed, Miles an’ I, I was convinced of it given the fact we’d never been able to hop on the good foot an’ do the bad thing. I didn’t come lookin’ to get laid, but I’m not so foolish as to think we wouldn’t at least tempt fate.

The kiss we’d shared minutes before flitted through my mind, and my belly quivered with desire. I’d been here a million times before, on the verge of ‘this is it’, and I scrambled to erase even the thought from my mind, anything to keep from jinxing this night. It was painfully clear to me that I needed Miles - I have always needed Miles, but that night the need was almost overwhelming, and I felt a pressure in my chest as my fingers pushed my hair back from my face. That pressure swelled, and dipped down my spine and to the space between my hips, heating it, until I felt my cock stir, and steadily rise.

I wouldn’t be persuaded. I’d not been in someone else’s company - in someone else’s bed - since August, an’ that was a means to an end, nothing more. I hadn’t waited that long to ruin that rushing bloom of arousal that was heating my veins with a quick toss off in a shower. I turned the water over to cold, stifled the shriek that threatened to bubble out, and quickly finished with my shower, shaving before I rinsed off. There was no sense in wasting time. I wanted him, had to have him, and this time, I wouldn’t be swayed from course. I shut the water off and slid the door of the shower open to find the towel racks empty.

Opportunity, it seemed, was presenting self rather promiscuously.

+

_It was a strange turn of events, to say the least. One moment, I was on my way out to grab quick bite from the cafe up the block, and in the next, I was ushering Alex inside of my flat, and making him a proper cup of tea._

_Mundane tasks, those that are repetitive, that you don’t have to think about doing, are supposed to relax you, put you at ease, but as I went through the motions, the only thing I could think of was that Alex was sitting at my breakfast bar watching my every move._

_He had a presence about him, always had one, and even for a slight lad, he seemed to take up space. He said very little, and yet demanded attention with the smallest gestures - a flick of his hair, a tilt of his eyebrow, the way his tongue swiped along his bottom lip. Christ, I’d missed him. When he wasn’t watching me, I was watching him, relearning him, and finding such a soothing calm in the way he sipped his tea slowly, and didn’t feel the need to speak._

_I wanted to ask him a million questions, first and foremost: what was he doing here? His excuse of spontaneity was weak at best. Alex always thought things through, sometimes too much, but that was Alex: calm, subdued, rational. It was plain to me, however, that he’d perhaps taken a page from a book he’d been loaned, or something he’d borrowed on a whim. He’d always seemed so grounded and though his words conveyed his caution, there was a playful vibe to his kiss, like he was turning back the pages of our collected histories and starting on chapter one all over again. The memory still ached sweetly._

_Tea had quickly turned into the offer of a hot shower, one that he accepted gratefully. When he’d asked to stay, I’d had to pause before I answered him, afraid I’d appear too eager. The smile on my face did nothing to hide my exuberance at his request, but he’d said nothing, and I found myself soothed by the way warmth of his dark gaze surrounded me._

_Always he’d been the one to call on me, to lure and entangle, to call halfway around the world to join him, and always I’d gone willingly, borne of a selfish desire to see him and be near him, no matter the consequences. I’d suffered a lot for him, and he for me, too (at least, that’s what I tell myself). For him to come to me looking for a place to hide for a spell, some sort of safety net in the circus that his life had become, spoke volumes. Alex was no charity case. He didn’t oft look to be taken care of, being completely self-reliant._

_I tried to keep myself occupied by readying the the guest room. Of course, I didn’t want him to use it, but I didn’t want to assume anything, either. I hadn’t given up on us, but since the last time we’d had any sort of time together, it had become painfully clear that the universe was dead set against us ever moving past heated kisses and frantic groping in less-than-ideal locales. I might be a glutton for punishment, but I wasn’t completely masochistic._

_He’d dug through his carry-all in the kitchen and had found a comfortable change of clothes, so I transferred the bag to the guestroom, and then doubled back to the linen closet to find a set of sheets to make the bed. Of course, in order to get to the linen closet, I had to move back down the hallway, and in doing **that** , I had to pass the bathroom door._

_The water still coursed against the shower walls, and I could hear Alex’s soft muttering as he half-sang, half-hummed to himself in that spacey way only he can achieve. My fingers danced along the wood grain of the door, and I swear I felt a little jolt of **something** run through me. My hands ached to feel the firm curve of his thighs as they had in the kitchen, and to pluck the damp fabric of his shirt from his back. His shoulders and neck were impossibly sensitive, and I hadn’t missed the way he’d taken a breath when my fingers had grazed his collarbone. Even with the door between us now, he was so close and yet, very far away...or at least he was trying to be. I’d watched enough coverage of their live shows that I’d seen the metamorphosis from that jubilant, pouty teddy boy, to...well, to the rather deviant, Transilvanian look he’d been sporting when he arrived._

_The flight had made him a bit more haggard: red, tired eyes, wrinkled shirt, stubble dusting his chin, but that hair was perfect, not a piece out of place, slicked back and accentuating the widow’s peak that I was now secretly infatuated with. He moved differently, too, at least on stage, and it was a sight to behold. I wasn’t lying when I’d said he could always work himself into a shape that suited his environment, and these past few months that shape had barely resembled the boy I’d fallen for._

_My fingers flexed on the door once more at the thought. One look into those tired eyes as they watched me over the edge of his cup and I knew he was weary with all of it. It was in his lazy rolling of consonants, and the slope of his shoulders as he sat hunched at my breakfast bar, it was in the way he’d languidly accepted my offer of a shower, even with that hint of mischief in his smile._

_Alex was spent._

_The hiatus he’d announced was not unfounded. He’d been terrified to do it, but I bless Matt for pulling him aside when they were in Austin and bringing up the subject of a break. He needed it as much as Nick needed it to reconnect with his growing family, as much as Jamie needed it to spend time with his new wife, as much as Matt needed it to take the next step with Breana. I didn’t know what this reset had in store for Alex, but I was optimistic. After all, he had come by here immediately following their last shows in Brazil._

_The water shutting off pulled me from my musing and I blinked at the door. How long had I been standing there, thinking of Alex? Thinking of us? Thinking of this situation? I took a step back, and then another, and was almost at the the linen closet when the bathroom door swung open behind me._

_“Eh, Mi? Can I get a towel, please?”_

_“Hmm?” I turned, frowning, and caught a glimpse of half of Alex, naked, dripping wet, the door perfectly bisecting the view of his frame, and blocking out anything of a more baser interest. Still, I found myself biting the inside of my cheek at the sight. Drops of water slid down his shoulders, over his chest, through the dark hair between his pecs, down that center line bisecting his abs, lazily rolling down one side of his navel-_

_“There aren’t any towels,” Alex elaborated, thumbing back into the steam-filled room._

_“Yeah,” I breathed, nodding, looking back into his eyes._

_I didn’t move. The heat there had fused me in place._

_Alex blinked and ran a hand over his hair, flicking water from his eyes. “Miles?”_

_“Hmm?” I shook myself from my stupor and released the breath I’d been holding. “Towel!” I dove for the linen closet and yanked the door open, grabbing the first towel I saw, a fluffy, thick, white affair, and I walked back to the bathroom and passed it through the small space the open door afforded._

_“Thanks, love,” Alex mumbled, stepping back and winding it around his hips._

_My attention wavered between the glint of his chain in the soft light of the bathroom, and the shadow of dark hair between his thighs. He turned as he wrapped the towel around himself and I took a steadying breath and forced myself back to the linen closet. Armed with sheets, I turned back to watch Alex emerge from the bathroom, skin still drying, dark hair pushed back from his face, his chin and jaw smooth from a shave._

_His gaze fell to the sheets stacked on my arm and he cocked his head. “Changin’ the sheets joost for me, Mi? That’s sweet.” He moved towards me._

_“The spare room doesn’t have any sheets on the bed,” I explained, my voice falling away as Alex moved closer._

_He frowned. “Gonna make me sleep on me own?”_

_“I just...I didn’t want to...like, you know. Make any assumptions.” **Liar!** My inner voice screamed. **What were you thinking would happen when you let him inside? Offered him tea? A shower? Let him kiss you?** I took a steadying breath to calm the thoughts boiling in my brain, and watched as Alex’s hand came down on top of the sheets I was holding, his gaze tilted up at me._

_“Miles?”_

_The breath I’d taken sailed out rather shakily, and my cheeks turned pink at the same time. My mouth twitched into something close to a smile, but I felt rather helpless standing there in my hallway, Alex before me. “I...there’s...there’s always somethin’, eh, Alex?” I began lamely. He made a face, pursed his lips to reply, but I shook my head and charged on. “Somethin’ between us. Time...or, or bloody noses, cocaine, other boys, other girls, oceans, albums, singles…I just don’t want...There’s always something between us. And I don’t want to get my hopes up.”_

_I felt a sharp tug as Alex yanked the sheets from my hands. “There’s nowt here now but you an’ me,” he said softly. “No person. No drug. No obligations. No time, or distance.” He dropped the sheets to one side, letting them crumple to the floor. “No sheets.”_

_I cleared my throat and nodded, focusing on his towel once again. “An’ that?” I dared to look at him, and when I saw the colour high in his cheeks, and the boyish smile that spread on his face, the weight in my chest lifted._

_Alex cocked an eyebrow at me, and hooked his thumb into the end of the towel that was secured. “Take me to bed, Mi,” he murmured, moving closer. “An’ lets close these few inches between us.”_

_+_

_I took him to my bedroom and I let him strip me down. All the times we’d found ourselves this close, never close enough, I had never felt so nervous. I thought perhaps it was just the culmination of anticipation and desire scorching my veins. There was also a good chance that I’d built myself up for this moment - we both had, essentially, had crafted it, honed it, and now it was so close, it was a dream._

_He took my face in his hands and kissed me, pulling my mouth down to meet his, walking us towards the bed until he sank onto the mattress, his towel still wound about his hips. His hands slid down my shoulders, around my torso, hooked my boxers, and pulled as he moved to his knees. In the next instant he’d taken my entire length down his throat, a surprising mixture of suction and heat that was borderline painful. I hissed, and snared a handful of his hair._

_No sound permeated the room, save for the obscene sounds of his mouth working wetly, and the thin hum in the back of his throat. He blinked those dark eyes up at me and I cursed, and shouted hoarsely, and cupped the back of his neck to hold him steady as my hips arched forward and the tip of my cock filled the back of his throat. He gagged, and it made me ravenous. I suddenly, very badly, needed to have him, all of him, and holding the sides of his face, I drew my hips back. I smiled at his whine, and my cock popped out of his mouth, bobbing against his cheek, making him stare up at me with wide eyes._

_His hair slid through my fingers and I moved to bring him to his feet. I eased him back onto the bed, pulling him under me as I tugged the towel free and took in every angle and dip and curve of his body. Knees on either side of his hips, I sat back, trailing my fingers from his hair to his face, under his jaw, and down the curve of his neck to settle there for a moment. His breath hitched, and he nodded, closing his eyes and writhing in my grip._

_“Please, Mi,” he whispered, fingers flexing on my thighs, moving to my hips as he bucked._

_Our cocks pressed together and he groaned breathlessly, eyelashes fluttering. With a sharp inhale, his eyes blinked open, and he reached for the back of my neck, pulling my face close to his._

_“Mi, I need you,” he gasped. “God, I need you. Need you to fuck me.”_

_The sound of his desperation was my downfall, as was the frantic drag and scrape of his fingers over my flesh. I’d never imagined Alex would be the one to bottom, but he was already hitching a leg over my hip, spreading his thighs, making it clear how he fit into this equation, and how I would as well._

_“You’re sure?” I murmured, loving the way he moved underneath me. I was sure. I needed to be certain he wouldn’t regret this._

_His fingers tightened on the back of my neck and he nodded, biting his lip. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life,” he confessed, cheeks flushed and eyes blazing. “Wanna feel you,” he murmured. “Wanna be filled up wiv nowt but you.”_

_I kissed him again before leaving him sprawled and panting on the bed while I retrieved condoms, and lube. He moved to his knees when I returned with full hands, and he took the items from me and pulled me back onto the bed to mirror his position. Taking up my hips in his hands, he held me steady as he slowly arched his forward, sliding our cocks against one another once more. I’d forgotten this feeling, and in the moment was taken back to that studio in France when Alex had been just as eager._

_In my excitement, I slicked everything with lube, twisting my fist around his cock, encouraging him to do the same with mine, until we were panting into each other’s mouths, both shaking from lust. His hands slid over my shoulders as my fingers pressed back behind his balls, and he tightened his grip, slippery hands fumbling, as my fingers teased and pressed and finally sank in, first one finger, and then two, much to Alex’s trembling delight._

_He gasped, and then howled, and tilted his hips back, and then down, pushing against my touch. “Yes,” he breathed, letting his head tilt back. Lacing his fingers behind my neck he held on and fucked himself on my fingers, his cock brushing mine on every other buck of his hips._

_“Touch me,” he begged, wiggling his hips and catching my gaze. “Mi, me cock, please, god, please, touch me. I want- **ohhh**.” His prayer was short lived, cut off when I didn’t hesitate to do as he asked. I couldn’t help it, didn’t want to: here he was offered up to me like some sort of tribute, and I happily partook. The more I stroked, the slicker he became, a sight to behold: such a wanton piece of a man well hidden, now coming apart in my hand like pulling a loose thread on a sweater._

_My cock was aching, weeping with jealousy at the way I handled Alex, and the way he writhed in pleasure. He took note, found pity for me in his dazed lust, and moved one hand to tighten and squeeze, fist molding to every hot inch of my length. I gripped him harder in reply, and he mewled, and twisted his hips towards mine._

_“Bof of us,” he panted, moving his fingers from my cock to where my hand gripped him. “Together, yeah?” He showed me what he wanted, how to hold both of us, and then he took up the inches I couldn’t reach._

_I groaned helplessly, and felt a hot ripple of ecstasy flood my veins. My mouth found his again, sharper now, teeth pressing harder into his lip, my tongue without finesse, but his meeting mine just as wildly. He began to moan in a steady rhythm, and around my fingers his arse flexed, and grasped. “Don’t come,” I heard myself growl. “Don’t come, Alex.” My fingers flexed inside of him, scraping that bundle of nerves, and I kissed him roughly, tongue deep, before pulling away with a gasp. “I want you to come with me.”_

_He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded frantically, and I took the cue to tighten my fingers at the base of his cock, staving off the orgasm that was building. A thick, resigned groan was his reply, and he quivered once more and stilled. I stilled, too, waiting for his breathing to deepen, and regulate._

_I eased my fingers from his body, watching the way his face contorted with pleasure, and then I sat on my heels. A few moments pause to roll a condom on, and then Alex climbed into my lap, knees on either side of mine. His cock pressed into my belly as he lifted up, reached between us, and held my cock steady. The sound of my heart pounding madly made my ears ache, and I looked up into his eyes as he sank down onto my cock, inch by agonizing inch. He winced slightly, and then opened up, hot, snug, and perfectly Alex._

+

“Oh, god, Miles, I love you,” I whispered. The words more or less tumbled from my mouth as I shuddered in his lap. I was like a white hot flame, flickering wildly, feeling like I might burn everything down around me. I clung to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other sliding over the nap of his shorn hair, and I pressed my face to his neck with a sigh. “I love you,” I said once more. The more I said those words, the easier they became, and I felt a weight lifting from my shoulders, my heart, from where it surrounded us. 

His eyes blazed with exuberant lust at my admission, and widened as I rolled my hips forward, and down. I felt the way Miles flexed his hips, and that muscle behind his navel that made his cock graze against that spot deep inside. I groaned again, whimpering as Miles wound his hips and found a gentle rhythm. 

“Fuck, Alex,” he breathed, fingers tightening on my hips. “I love you, laa,” he whispered, pushing his lips up towards mine, kissing me, holding me to him so tightly, and yet so delicately, like he was afraid I might break.

I feared it, too, and dug my nails into his shoulders and pulled as a hoarse cry was torn from my throat. Miles swallowed it with another kiss, this one wet, and full of passion. He wound a hand up my spine, holding the nape of my neck, while his other landed on my tailbone and pulled me against every roll of his hips. His cock was better than his fingers; better than anything I’d ever felt, because it was Miles, because we were finally here at this moment. I opened my eyes and stared down at him where I perched, and tried frantically to memorize every expression on his face. His features were mostly filled with wonder, and awe, and it made my need for him even more powerful. I met every thrust he levered upwards into me with a downward push of my hips, and he nodded, sweat pooling on his brow and his upper lip, as he panted and urged me on.

It didn’t take a lot of time, not that first time, and before I knew it I was a mess of gasping pleas. Miles slid his hand from my ass to my hip, and then between us, fisting my cock, squeezing, barely stroking, thumb rolling back and forth on the underside of the head until I thought I might pass out. My toes curled, and thick heat spread up my spine. I gasped loudly, and squeezed this thighs between mine as he held me down and pounded quickly, and shallowly, inside of me. 

“Now, laa,” Miles grunted, his thumb already slipping through the mess that was steadily leaking from my cock. He lifted his head and I kissed him as everything tightened and flashed with pulsing electricity, and then imploded, hot, long, and gloriously wet.

I jerked in his lap, heaving curses and forcing myself down onto him so far I could feel him in my throat. That was all it took for him, and he came, his fingers tethered to my thighs and leaving speckled bruises on my skin. My neck and collarbones were rubbed raw from the scrape of his beard as he groaned against me, and he continued to hold me to him as if he might get deeper.

I smiled at the thought, a carefree warble of laughter in my throat as I rocked in his lap and rode him out. I tasted the salt of his sweat as my lips landed on his hairline, his eyelids, his cheekbones, until he roused himself and smiled up at me once more.

“Wha?” he murmured, gently easing me onto my back.

“It’s nowt,” I replied with a reassuring grin. “M’joost happy, that’s all.”

It was the truth, as it always is with Miles, and though I was unhappy to sever our intimate connection, he didn’t stray, and we settled into the bed, Miles curled around me as we drifted off.

+

_I woke periodically throughout the night, fearing I might find Alex vanished, that the whole thing might have been a dream, or some incredibly vivid fantasy._

_It wasn’t. Alex snored softly in the space next to me, his face serene, lips slightly parted, and his hair falling into his eyes. God, I loved him, well and truly, and though I was exhausted, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted nothing more than to watch him as he slept, and make sure he didn’t fade with the sunrise. Truly, I didn’t know how much time we had together, and I wanted to make sure not a moment was wasted._

_Apparently, he wanted to make certain, too. Within moments of me watching him, he roused, sleepy smile firmly in place, his voice a rough whisper as he slid towards me and pulled me into a warm embrace full of teasing kisses. This time, I let him fill me, a fitting reversal of roles: we were equals in everything now, hearts and minds and bodies. I’d almost come when he’d said he loved me that first time, and it astonished me how easily it now passed over his lips as he draped himself across my back and held me down. I let him consume me, that quick flare to blistering heat a welcome sensation, and he clutched my hands with his, sliding his fingers between mine as his hips worked smoothly. His breath huffed hotly at the back of my neck, his teeth closed over skin there and bit sharply, tongue soothing the mark a moment later. He finished first, coming swiftly as I swore at the sting in his bite, and I was gasping and shaking as he turned me over and took me into his mouth, swallowing my completion._

_“Let’s stay here,” Alex murmured as we turned about the mattress and situated ourselves so that our feet and legs twined together, and my fingers were full of his hair. He kissed me softly, tongue slipping over my bottom lip as his hand curled over my hip. “Right here, me an’ you, London, make tea, make love, all of this.” He kissed me again. “Only this.”_

_I sighed softly and nodded, and gave him a brave smile as he pushed his face into my neck and pulled me close, unwilling to let me go. My heart broke a little bit then, but at the time I didn’t know why. All I knew in that moment was that timing was indeed everything, that you can’t plan love, or when it happens. You can only take it in the moment, and do with it what you can, until your time is up._


End file.
